


Favorable Slavery

by aythia



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gladiators, Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aythia/pseuds/aythia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen didn't know what it was about the new novice at Ludus Lacertus that made the man's smallest mistakes bother him so much, but he knew one thing: He would hammer every mistake out before Jared ever set foot in the arena.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favorable Slavery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transfixeddream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transfixeddream/gifts).



> Originally posted at <http://aythia.livejournal.com/96137.html>

  
  


~*~

  
The heat was stifling; it had been for quite some time now, and the earth was dry and cracked. Every step stirred up a small cloud of dust as Jensen moved across the yard. Forty-five days had passed since the last rainfall and he wouldn't be surprised if they saw another forty-five before the skies granted them rain again. The ground was burning through the thin soles of his sandals and sand easily found its way in between the leather straps, turning his feet a matted brown colour.

He raised his arm, shielding his eyes from the sun, and looked out towards the road where, in the distance, a cloud of dust announced the new prisoners, novices-to-be, approaching. Jensen turned his back on the road and faced the buildings that made up what he called his home. Three of them were arranged in an U-shape that left a big yard in the middle where meetings were held every morning or, as now, where he greeted the newcomers.

Jensen walked towards an open door into one of the buildings and was met by the smell of metal, leather and grease. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room after the bright sunshine outside, but when they did, he could make out the shapes of weapons and armor filling the wall and hanging from the ceiling. A locked chest in the corner held his own private training armor; he knew he needed to impress the newcomers now or he would have to fight to earn their respect later, and Jensen didn't have time for that. He turned his focus to strapping on his leg- and arm-guards, securing them with leather thongs before he strapped on his sword belt and gave himself a once-over in a polished steel mirror. He heard the horses coming to a stop outside, the wagon they were pulling creaking in a way that made Jensen amazed that it still held together.

When he walked back outside, the heat hit him hard; for a second as he breathed in, it burned his nose and lungs, but he adjusted quickly. When he stepped up to the horses, he was fully focused on the work ahead of him; he reached up and caught the reigns of the closest horse and looked back towards the wagon.

"What did you bring me?" he asked the coachman.

"I didn't bring you anything," the man spat out. Jensen clenched his jaw, biting back an acidic response. "I brought Aulus a fine load, though."

Jensen let the horse go quick enough to startle it; it jerked to the side, causing the horse next to it to stagger as well. The coachman cursed at him, but Jensen ignored him and walked towards the back of the wagon.

"This is your idea of a fine load?" he said with an even tone.

There were only five men in the back of the wagon, all of them covered in dirt, and they smelled sourly of old sweat and the metallic bite of half-dried blood.

"The wars are stagnant, there are no new prisoners coming in from the north. This is a good load.”

"And a dirty one," Jensen sneered. "It's like you want them to die. You do know that we don't pay for dead prisoners, right?"

"Fuck you! Get them off my wagon and let me get the hell out of this plague-infested rat hole you call home."

Jensen bit back another retort and opened up the back of the wagon. Unfastening the chains leading from the closest prisoner to a metal ring on the carriage wall, he pulled hard enough to jerk the man forward, and to Jensen's surprise, the man glared up at him. The newcomers usually refused to meet his gaze, too scared of what might lie in store for them to dare to do anything that might upset him. This man was sitting down, his arms pinned behind his back at an awkward angle by the chain locking his wrists together, but there was still pride in the way he held his body, some remnant of the man he had been before he became a prisoner.

Jensen knew a challenge when he saw it.

~*~

  
"The newcomers have been washed," Quintus's voice sounded, bringing Jensen out of his graceful movements, his sword tipping down towards the ground.

"Dammit," Jensen muttered as he brought the sword back up, continuing the pattern he had been carving into the air. "Bring them here," he said without looking around. "I'll address them soon enough."

"Yes, Jensen."

When he heard footsteps approaching, Jensen brought his sword back to its starting position and began the sequence again. The footsteps came to a halt not far from him, but Jensen kept his focus on the pattern his body and the sword were moving through; the only sounds to be heard were his own steady breathing, the dry slap of his sandals against the hard, dusty ground, and the whoosh of his sword slicing through air. He finished up the last movement and let his body relax, his sword coming to a halt; only then did he allow himself to feel tiredness, the way his muscles burned with the strain he had put on them.

When he turned around, he saw the newcomers standing there, four pairs of eyes darting to him furtively and one pair looking openly. Jensen tensed under the gaze; he recognized the hazel eyes he had seen in the wagon earlier, slanted cat eyes meeting his from over wide cheekbones. What the cover of grime and hunched position hadn't shown him earlier was that the man was built like the finest statues Jensen had seen at Aulus's mansion; he had strong arms, a sculpted abdomen that tapered off to narrow hips, and strong thighs showing off perfectly under the short loincloth that was the newcomers’ uniform during their first week. Jensen had to bite back a curse when his eyes raked over the man, who was taller than Jensen himself—that didn't happen often, but it was the steel glint in his eyes that made Jensen re-evaluate his previous assessment of the man as a challenge. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he would be the one to come out on top.

"This is Ludus Lacertus," he said, proud of the steadiness of his voice. "For those of you who have yet to be informed as to why you're here, I can easily explain it. You are here to learn to fight. This ludus might be small, but we produce high class gladiators, and that's what I expect all of you to become. I'm Jensen and I'm the one you listen to. I'm the one who will train you, the one who will make sure you improve, that you’ll be able to stay alive for more than five minutes within the arena.”

"Staying alive to earn you some money, you mean."

Jensen wasn't surprised that the tall man had been the one to open his mouth. A big part of him had known that the guy would speak up sooner or later, and he had been expecting it to be sooner, but even so, it made him bristle. He could feel tension ripple through the group, the man's confidence pushing at the edges and making the other newcomers stand up straighter, look at him more plainly.

Jensen met the man's gaze, refusing to look away or show that the man had gotten to him in any way. Instead, he rested the tip of his sword against the ground, leaning forward to rest his weight against it; when he spoke, his voice was calm and precise.

"Gold in the pouch is never a bad thing," he said, letting his eyes rake over the man's body. "But no, you fighting well will not earn _me_ money. It _will_ save me the trouble of training up another group of new people."

The man looked surprised at that, one of his eyebrows disappearing up under his shaggy hair, but there was still a challenge in his eyes.

"I'm good," the man said, proving Jensen’s hunch correct. "I don't think there's anything you can teach me. I _will_ earn manumission."

Jensen took a step back, lifting his sword up and aiming it towards the tall man. He couldn't stop a smirk from appearing on his face; he would enjoy putting this man in his place.

"Quintus," he called out.

The brown-haired man came out of the dark doorway that lead to the armory. His blue eyes blinked a few times, adjusting to the too-bright sunlight beating down from almost straight ahead of them.

"Yes, Jensen?" he said without even sparing a glance at the group of men in the yard.

"This slave here thinks I can't teach him anything," Jensen said. He didn't miss the tall man’s scowl at his choice of words. "Get him a training sword and we’ll see if he’s right."

Quintus turned his gaze from Jensen to let his eyes rake up and down the other man's body; shrugging dismissively, he ducked back inside the dark square of the door. Jensen could hear the clanking of metal on metal as he rummaged around; after a few seconds, Quintus came back with one of their longest training swords in his hands. The sword didn't look nearly as big once the stranger accepted it, though, his big hand closing around the hilt. Jensen could see familiarity in the man’s movement as he swung the sword, getting used to the weight of it.

"Will you tell me your name before I humiliate you?" Jensen asked calmly as he raised his own sword into the same starting position he had held it in during his training.

"It's Jared," the man said.

"Well, you already know my name. Now it's time for me to show you how a sword should be handled."

His answer was a bitten off sound, almost a growl, and without any warning, the man, Jared, moved forward, his sword slicing through the air in a movement that was meant to hurt his target. Jensen felt a surge of pride at the flicker of surprise on the man's face when Jensen easily side-stepped his attack, bringing his own sword up to meet Jared's with a hard clank. The impact sent a spark of pain up Jensen's arm, but he didn't acknowledge it, his body and sword already sliding into the next move without a thought. His feet stirred up a cloud of brown dust as he circled Jared, trying to find a way through the man's defences.

He heard footsteps around them and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the novices gathering around the edges of the yard to take in the scenario playing out between the two men.

For awhile, they moved back and forth, mapping each other’s movement without making any real attacks. Then Jensen decided to try the man out; with a few steps forward, he almost got through to Jared before the tall man's sword came up and prevented his own from landing the hit he had been aiming for.

The man was good, Jensen had to admit that, and for awhile longer, the fight rolled back and forth without either of them getting through. Metal sounded on metal as they clashed and every now and then, when they got closer to each other, Jensen could smell something that must have been purely Jared, salty and heavy. Jensen wished he could focus on the smell, but instead, he danced a few steps back before sliding around Jared to try and get at his side. Despite his physique, though, the man was all grace, easily twisting around to meet Jensen's attack.

That was when Jensen realized what Jared's weakness was. He was good, very good, but he seemed to favor the same technique with every move he made. Jensen could almost predict what path Jared’s sword would take through the air. He bit back a smile when he realized that Jared must have had proper training from someone who was apparently very skilled. But Jensen was better.

He took a step back and saw the beginnings of a grin on Jared's lips, but Jensen easily changed his sword to his other hand and the grin turned into a confused frown when Jensen switched techniques.

Where his movements had previously been graceful, every clanking of their swords planned, Jared couldn't really keep up with the new angle of the hits, and Jensen cut through his defences. Despite the dull edge of his blade, he could see Jared wince when the sword scraped his skin and turned it red. Jensen quickly moved behind Jared, and before the tall man could react, Jensen managed to get him down on the ground, one foot against his shoulder and the tip of the blade aimed at Jared's neck.

"Still think I can't teach you anything?"

~*~

  
Jensen sat down on the narrow cot and tried to ignore the way his muscles burned with every movement. He looked around the dimly lit room and cursed under his breath when he saw that the amphora with water in it was across the room on one of the other cots; his muscles protested when he stood up again and his legs felt shaky as he walked across the room. He took up a washcloth that had been left next to the amphora and dipped it into the water. It was far from cold, but compared to the sweltering heat outside, it was pure pleasure against his heated skin.

"The newcomers are settled in," a voice said behind him.

Jensen turned around and saw Quintus standing in the doorway, barely visible against the dark of the night outside.

"Good," was Jensen's only response.

Quintus walked over and took the washcloth from Jensen's hands before he moved behind him and dragged it over the dust-covered skin of his back. Jensen winced when the somewhat rough fabric of the cloth dragged over a scrape on his shoulder blade.

"Oh," Quintus said. "I didn’t see that he actually managed to get close enough to graze you. That’s never happened before."

"And it never will again," Jensen said, taking the washcloth back. "It was pure luck."

Quintus didn't say anything as Jensen cleaned his back and discarded the washcloth in the amphora. Their cleaning ritual could have been erotic, but despite the long hours spent together, and the fact that they had fought for their lives together at the arena, the men felt nothing but brotherhood for one another.

"Tomorrow?" Quintus asked, pulling off his dusty clothing.

"Tomorrow we find out if they’re actually fit to even be here. I don't trust Aulus or that piece of vermin he send out to fetch new fodder for the noblemen's perverted pleasure."

"I doubt you’ll find anything wrong with the man you fought today," Quintus said quietly, his voice barely reaching Jensen’s ears in the dark room. "He may be a barbarian, but he has skills."

"No," Jensen said flatly. "He’s got talent, but you know as well as I that he would be dead within ten minutes in the arena, even with his height and arm span on his side."

Quintus didn't protest; they both knew that Jensen was right. Despite the training he obviously had, Jared was far from being a gladiator. It was Jensen's job to turn him into one.

~*~

  
Jensen swore when the swinging sandbags hit Jared in his side and made him stumble, promptly causing him to get hit by the following two bags as well. So far, none of the novices had managed to get through the obstacle course without getting hit; Jensen walked up to the front of the line when Jared finally got away from the last of the swinging bags.

"You need to learn this," Jensen said. "It's about mobility. Reflexes. Being aware of your surroundings."

He took a step forward and entered the gauntlet of swinging bags; he moved through them with practised ease, avoiding every single one and stepping past the last one to stand beside Jared.

"If you aren't always aware of where your opponents are, you _will_ die," Jensen said. He turned to the man next to him. "Do you understand me?"

Jared's jaw clenched and for a moment, Jensen expected the man to talk back; instead, he nodded, the movement making his hair fall down in his face. Jensen frowned and untied a string of leather around his right bicep. Jared looked surprised when Jensen handed it over, and Jensen could see his strong, calloused hand hesitate before he accepted it, tying his hair back without a word.

Jensen nodded and turned his back on the man, returning his attention to the novice just about to enter the gauntlet.

It was another two hours before anyone managed to get through without being hit by the bags and Jensen's eyes were aching from the sunlight blasting down from above; the sky was vast and blue above them and, of course, there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. He was showing one of the newcomers how to work with the palus, his heavy training sword clanking against the wood time and time again, when he saw Jared move through the bags with all the grace he had been showing the previous day. Jensen wasn't surprised that the tall barbarian was the first one to manage the challenge; he _was_ surprised by the surge of pride he felt.

~*~

  
"Again," Jensen snapped as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

Jared bent forward, his hands on his knees, and gasped for air, lifting his head just enough to glare at Jensen through a curtain of brown hair. His eyes had the same hard glint in them that he always seemed to reserve for Jensen and Jensen alone.

"Again," Jensen repeated.

Jared straightened and spat on the ground at Jensen's feet before he picked his sword back up and turned toward the swinging pole; it was equipped with a shield and heavy sandbag that swung around whenever Jared hit the shield. Taking a swing at the shield, he managed quite some time before the sandbag hit him in the back, causing him to tumble forward once more.

"Dammit, focus," Jensen snarled.

He didn't know what it was with Jared that made him bristle whenever the two of them were close, but after that first sense of pride, all he could see were the mistakes that Jared kept making, every small vulnerability that would get him killed in the arena.

"You're doing it again," Jensen said, ignoring the way Jared's hand clenched around the hilt of the training sword. "You lose your focus, you get too caught up in the fight."

"Isn't fighting what we're supposed to do?" Jared growled.

Without a word, Jensen raised his own sword and started attacking the shield, dodging the sand bag each time it swung around; despite having his back to Jared, he could feel the man's eyes on his every move. The clank of his sword hitting the shield sounded loud in the stillness of the evening; they were the only two still at the training area. It wasn't an uncommon scenario; in the two weeks since Jared had arrived at Ludus Lacertus, Jensen had forced him to stay late on many evenings.

He knew he had considerably surpassed the maximum amount of time Jared was able to continue his own assault on the training target, but Jensen forced himself to continue, to push through the burning of his muscles; he took a few quick steps, first back and then to the side before one final swipe of his sword cut off the knot that tied the bag to the target. It landed right at Jared's feet, sand spilling out of it and piling up.

"Yes, you're supposed to fight," Jensen said, forcing his breathing to stay calm. "But it's one thing to practice like we do here; out there? In the arena? It's different."

"Because I have to survive?" Jared said, sounding much calmer than he had before.

"No," Jensen said. "Because you’ll have to survive while putting on a show. The crowd won’t care if you're good unless you give them a show."

"I don't care about the crowd," Jared said coldly. "This is a fucking messed up country that sees fights as entertainment, that sees killing people as entertainment. And you think I want to look good for them?"

Jensen put down his sword, resting it against a weapon rack. He didn't look at Jared, instead letting his gaze wander over the the training area, the target trainers, the palus to the side; he distantly registered that they would probably need a new one soon. The earth was as dry as it had been for weeks; only a few bushes had managed to keep their green leaves, and even they were starting to turn brown under the unforgiving sun. The sky above them was darkening, deep blue turning to shades of purple and orange as the sun slowly fell below the horizon. The ground still held the heat of the day and was warm under his bare feet; he dug his toes into the dirt when he walked a few steps away from Jared.

"I think, you want to survive," he said without looking at the novice. "And if you don't put on a show, they _will_ vote to have you killed, if it comes to that."

He could see the novice flinch at his harsh words, but he knew they needed to be said; once he was at the arena, Jared would be forced fight for his life again and again, and skill and training would only take him so far. Gladiators needed the love of the audience if they wanted to have a shot at earning manumission in some distant future. Jared look at him for a long moment, clenched his jaw, and lifted the sword again; the clank of metal was loud in the otherwise serene evening and it made Jensen relax somewhat. The smell of sweat and blood, the sound of weapons meeting, was Jensen's world, and it felt like home.

~*~

  
Jensen was training with one of the veterans, their swords clashing in a seemingly endless dance as they moved back and forth and around each other. The man had been at the ludus for over a year and their routine was familiar enough to be relaxing, even with Jensen’s muscles aching from hours of practice. Across the training area, he could see Jared working together with Quintus; Jensen couldn't help frowning when he saw that despite the fact that Jared towered over Quintus, he wasn't able to breach the smaller man's defences. Quintus himself moved around, a quick flurry of motion; a curse sounded when blood began to flow from a shallow cut on Jared's arm. Jensen pulled his focus back to his own training just in time to see the man he was fighting aim an attack at his side and barely manage to avoid it. The recruit grinned at him, knowing how close he had come to landing a hit. Not many people had ever managed that.

Jensen refused to let himself be distracted anymore. He focused his mind on his own training until a loud rumble made him look up; the previously clear blue sky was covered with heavy rain clouds, turning the world a murky grey. Jensen was surprised he hadn't even noticed it earlier, considering how long the rain had been eluding them. He didn't really have time to think about it further before a fork of lighting flashed, followed by a rumble strong enough to make the earth quake beneath his sandaled feet.

The rain was instantaneous, a downfall hard enough to hurt where it hit Jensen's sweaty skin. For a few seconds, they were all frozen, stunned by the sudden downpour. Quintus was the first to pull himself together.

"Gather up the equipment," he called out. "Nothing gets left behind. Move it!"

There was a flurry of motion as the men started gathering up the swords, nets and shields spread over the training area. The rain was so heavy that it was hard to tell one man from another, but when he called out Jared's name, Jensen saw a tall shape turn around and come towards him, his edges blurry in the massive downpour.

"I want to talk to you," Jensen said when Jared stopped beside him.

"What? Now?" Jared said. Jensen could hear the annoyance in his voice and felt anger bristle under his skin; there was just something about Jared that rubbed him the wrong way, something that made him snap at the man in a way that he didn’t at any of the others.

"Yes, now," Jensen snapped. The two man glared at each other in silence while Quintus lead the others down the already muddy path towards the main buildings.

"How long have you been here?" he asked when the men disappeared from view, cloaked by the heavy curtain of rain.

"You fucking well know," Jared snarled, turning towards him. "You and whoever you fucking work for seemed to see fit to force me to take an oath, and you _branded_ me like some sort of farm animal."

Jensen looked down at Jared's hand where Aulus's mark was burnt into his tanned skin. His eyes flickered to his own hand where the same mark was barely visible anymore, covered in scars earned during the years spent fighting in the arena for his right to live.

"It's the law, Jared," Jensen said. "It doesn't matter if you like it or not, but here, in my country, you're a slave, and slaves get marked. Most prisoners are sentenced to slave work that will have them killed within months, you should be grateful to be here."

"Grateful?" Jared growled. He took a step towards Jensen. "Grateful for what? For your _training_?"

"That training you’re sneering at is what will keep you alive, you stubborn asshole," Jensen answered, stepping closer to Jared. "Over a month, that's how long you’ve been here, and you're not even close to being able to take on Quintus. You need to do better."

"I'm the best one here," Jared said; Jensen flinched at the truth in his words. "You and Quintus, no one is close to taking you two down, but you know I'm better than the people who have been here for over a _year_."

"You're not good enough," Jensen said. He turned and walked away.

The previously dry ground was slippery under his feet; the rain hammered down and turned the entire training area to a mud field. Despite having taken only a few steps, Jensen's legs were covered in mud, and when he started down the path Quintus had disappeared down, his feet almost slid out from under him; only his fast reflexes kept him upright. He was forced to slow down when he got down the path and he heard Jared behind him, the other man cursing low under his breath. Jensen felt an almost blinding urge to draw his sword and do whatever damage he could with the dull weapon.

When he approached the armory, he could hear voices from across the yard; apparently the others had cleaned off, and it seemed that Quintus had brought them to the big dining hall rather than back to the sleeping area. With the rain hammering down harder by the minute, Jensen could see the need to give the men someplace warm and dry to be; the rain was welcome, but they didn’t need any fights that might be caused by packing into a crowded sleeping hall. He turned his back on the sound and ducked into the dark armory, meeting the smell of wet leather and metal; only one small candle lit up the room, its equally small flame doing very little to increase visibility. When Jensen walked deeper into the room to find a place to store his sword, the light was barely enough to keep him from tripping over the weapon stands.

"You're such a bastard," he heard Jared say somewhere behind him. "You must have been where I am now, right? I saw the mark on you."

"I was, and I'm not anymore," Jensen said coldly as he reached for a rag to clean his sword. "I fought and I survived. I earned manumission."

"And how does that feel?" Jared asked with a hard edge to his voice. "You fought for years and you're still here, and that's what you think I should fight for?"

"I think you should fight for freedom," Jensen said.

"Like your freedom? Like the man who brought me here? They will never see you as a free man, only as a freed slave."

Jensen didn't even think as he dropped the sword to the ground and spun around, his fist moving through the air lightning fast; for the first time, it wasn't fast enough. Jared was closer than Jensen had expected and before Jensen had time to adjust, Jared had grabbed him and shoved him up against the wall hard enough to make his teeth to slam together painfully.

"Get your hands off me, you filthy..."

He couldn't get another word out before Jared's mouth covered his, a hard press, his tongue demanding entrance into Jensen’s mouth. It was more of a claim than a kiss and Jensen raised his hands to Jared's chest to try to push the taller man away; the feeling of strong muscles under his fingertips caused him to moan involuntarily. The slight parting of lips seemed to be an invitation to Jared, who pushed his tongue inside Jensen's mouth and slid his big hands down Jensen's wet skin, his long fingers curling around Jensen's hips hard enough to bruise.

Jensen was caught off guard by the arousal that rose inside him like a tidal wave; Jared was quick to take advantage when he felt Jensen relax for a moment. Jensen found himself spun around and he barely had time to brace himself before Jared slammed him back against the wall, a ripple of pain shooting through his arm as it took most of the impact.

"Fuck, Jared," he groaned.

In the darkness of the room, every touch felt magnified, spots of fire on his rain-slicked skin, and when Jared bit down hard at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Jensen couldn't keep from moaning low as he pushed back, pressing himself against Jared's tall frame.

"You're so...fucking...annoying," Jared growled against his skin, hard bites punctuating his words. "So damn good, all the fucking time, nothing gets to you. Except for me, I get to you, don't I?"

Jensen's anger returned when Jared's fingers ghosted over the barely-visible mark he had left on Jensen on the first day they had met.

"You don't. It was just luck that you were able to touch me," Jensen spat. "You're not special."

"The hell I’m not," Jared said as he pushed his knee between Jensen's legs, forcing them apart. "I'm special enough for you to ride me all the time, notice me all the time."

Jensen let out a few low curses, but he couldn't really protest; he knew that Jared was right. None of the other novices held his attention the way Jared did, none of them got under his skin. Whatever it was about Jared that had gotten to Jensen, though, he had never expected this: the other man pressed up against him close enough that Jensen could feel the hard line of his cock against the small of his back, close enough to feel each ragged breath against his neck.

"Special enough for you to be hard for me," Jared whispered into Jensen's ear, reaching around him to put a big hand over Jensen's cock.

The only sounds in the dark room were those of the two men’s heavy breaths and the hammering of rain against the roof. The rain drowned out any other noises that might have reached them from across the yard, and Jensen knew that Jared was the only one to hear his breath hitch when Jared pressed his knee up, forcing Jensen to ride his muscular thigh. The friction of Jared's bare leg against the inside of his own made him moan.

"Get your hands off me," Jensen growled, but the words lost their power when he couldn't keep his hips from pushing back against the body behind him.

Jared didn't listen. Instead, he reached his hands down to the loin cloth that already hung low on Jensen's hips, the fabric soaked through with rain, and with one tug, he tore it down. He didn't leave Jensen time to react before he slid one hand over the taut skin of Jensen's hip and back around, stroking over the rounded curve of his ass.

"Fuck," Jensen gasped at the warmth of Jared's hand on his body.

Jared pulled back slightly and Jensen could hear him fumbling; metal clanked and leather rustled and he felt something being poured down the base of his spine. The wetness trickled down his back and Jared's fingers followed it, rubbing it into Jensen's skin and down the cleft of his ass until it was warm. His slick fingers pushed against Jensen’s warm puckered skin, rubbing circles around his hole.

"You're telling me you don't want this?" Jared asked, pushing a finger inside. "It feels to me like you do."

Jensen was beyond protesting. Instead, he spread his legs and arched back against Jared’s finger, moaning when it slid deeper inside. There was a warm, thick smell in the air and Jensen realized that the wetness Jared had rubbed into him must have been the oil they used to care for their equipment. The smell intensified when Jared poured more of the oil where his finger disappeared into Jensen's body and he added another finger. The burn of the second finger made Jensen gasp, but Jared didn't give him time to get used to it; instead, he scissored his fingers, stretching the tight muscle. Despite the burn, pleasure started to spread through Jensen’s body, tendrils of heat spreading from where Jared's fingers pushed in and out.

"Stop teasing already," Jensen gritted out. "You're such a..."

His last words were drowned in a moan when Jared crooked his fingers inside Jensen and hit a spot that made his vision flicker and his knees buckle. It was only Jared pressing up against him, holding him, that kept him upright. He could feel the taller man's erection press against him through the remaining layer of clothing, the fabric rough against his sensitive skin. Jared pressed up against him, his broad chest flat against Jensen's back, wet skin on wet skin. Then Jared pulled back, just enough to get his own loin cloth off before he pushed himself against Jensen, the hard line of his cock pressing against the slick line the oil had left.

"I still hate you," Jensen muttered when the head of Jared's cock started to spread him open.

"Feeling's mutual," Jared answered. He pushed forward. "Can't stand... Fuck, that feels good."

His wide cock slid into Jensen easily and Jensen could feel himself stretch wide around the hardness inside him, accepting every inch until Jared's hips were pressed against his ass, his cock buried deep inside. Jared held still, his hands on Jensen's hips and his breath hot against his neck. Jensen tried to push back, but Jared held him steady; big hands slid up from his hips, running over the wet skin of his sides and up his arms, grabbing at his wrists and pulling them up. Jared pushed Jensen harder against the wall with a snap of his hips.

Raw lust coursed through his veins and the roughness of the wall against his skin only made it stronger. Jared wrapped one hand around both his wrists and slammed them hard against the damp wall, hard enough to make pain ripple through him again, but it was so tangled up with pleasure that all Jensen could do was moan and let Jared set a punishing rhythm in and out of his body.

The rain was still hammering down hard, a smattering of water bursting against the roof, and Jensen could barely hear his moans and the slap of skin on skin over the sound of the downpour. Then Jared pressed closer to him, his mouth mere inches from Jensen's ear; Jensen could hear the man's ragged breathing, but he didn't need to hear Jared moving inside of him, not when he could _feel_ it, every oil-slicked thrust making his pleasure spiral higher and higher until he felt strung out, ready to burst.

Jared's free hand came down to rest on his hip, pulling Jensen back on the hard length of his dick before he reached around and wrapped that big hand around Jensen’s leaking cock. The tug and slide of Jared’s long fingers spread the tendrils of an orgasm through him when Jared picked up his speed even more; Jared's hand barely had room to move between the wall and Jensen's body, but it was friction enough, and Jensen came with a bitten off shout, his inner muscles clamping down hard around the cock inside of him. He felt Jared's hips stutter against him, and before his own orgasm ended, he felt Jared's dick pulse inside him, warm oil slicking the movement. Jared dropped his head down against Jensen's neck and went still inside of him.

They stood pressed together against the wall, the humidity surrounding them only intensifying the smells in the room and mixing them with the new fragrances of their warm skin and bodily fluids. Their breathing was harsh and it took awhile for them both to come back down from their climaxes; then Jared pulled out, a slow movement that had Jensen groaning. He could feel himself left open, a thin trickle of come and oil sliding down his thigh.

Jared let go of his wrists and Jensen's shoulders screamed in protest when he pulled his hands down. He stretched his arms; the wall was rapidly losing the warmth of the sun where his forehead was pressed against it, instead soaking up the cold, unrelenting rain. Slowly, Jensen turned around, leaning back against the wall. Jared's figure was nothing more than a shadow in the dark room as he reached down to pick up their discarded clothes from the floor.

"You...still need a lot of practice," Jensen said.

He saw Jared freeze, and despite the darkness, he could feel Jared turn to look at him. He wondered what he would have seen if there had been any light in the armory.

"Spend more time with the palus tomorrow, you need to build up your strength and stamina," he added.

"Fuck you, Jensen," Jared said as he walked away.

Another fork of lightning flashed just as Jared reached the open doorway and for a second, their eyes met in the burst of light; then Jared stepped out into the rain and Jensen was left alone, sweat and semen slowly drying on his skin.

~*~

  
Jensen's body ached when he woke up the next morning and when he looked down at his wrists, he saw blue and red bruises surrounding his wrists where Jared had held them against the wall. He could still feel the dried come on his skin. He lay on his narrow cot, a rough quilt covering his body; the heat of the summer seemed to have been washed away by the rain and the early morning air was chilly when he pushed the quilt aside and stretched his aching muscles.

"I see you had an interesting night," a voice drifted over from the other cot.

Jensen turned and saw Quintus sitting up, his eyes drifting down Jensen's body to take in the marks around his wrists. When Jensen looked down, he could see finger-shaped bruises on his hips, and even though he couldn't see it, he could feel the place where Jared had bit down against the junction of his neck.

"Don't, Quintus," Jensen muttered as he walked over to the water-filled amphora.

He soaked the washcloth through and started cleaning off the layer of sweat from his skin, cataloging every bruise and aching muscle he found. When he put the cloth down, Quintus was still watching him, his blue eyes following his movements as he put thick leather bands around his wrists to cover up the marks there. He was grateful for the new chill in the air that allowed him to take on more clothes than he usually would, covering up most of his bruises. After a few moments’ hesitation, he let the mark on his neck be; there was no real way to cover it up that wouldn't cause more questions and gossip than the mark itself.

"Jared?" Quintus asked when Jensen walked towards the door.

"Yes," Jensen said, seeing no reason to lie to his friend.

"Was that a good idea?" Quintus asked, following him out the door.

At the far side of the yard, they could see the novices and veterans gathered, and even from a distance, Jensen could easily spot Jared, a tall figure at the front of the group. He would be a natural-born leader if it wasn't for the fact that he was a slave.

"Probably not," Jensen said. "It won’t happen again."

Quintus didn't say anything, following Jensen silently when he crossed the muddy yard, dampness seeping through his sandals. Jensen relished the humidity after months of stifling heat. As he got closer, the men quickly arranged themselves, their backs straight and gazes firmly locking with his when he stopped in front of them. He could see Jared's gaze dart quickly to the mark on Jensen's neck, but that was his only acknowledgement that the events of the previous night had actually happened.

"Listen up," Jensen said, swallowing down the urge to look at Jared. "We're one week away from our first arena match."

It was a proof of the perfection of the men's training that they all kept quiet, even though they traded quick, worried looks before they focused fully on Jensen again.

"And you're good," Jensen said, catching the pride in the men's eyes when they heard the words; he had never said them to them before. "But good isn't good enough. You need to be the best if you want to leave that arena alive."

"That means we train," Quintus said as he stepped up beside him. "Come sunshine or rain, we train. We sleep, we eat, and we spend the rest of our time training."

"One week," Jensen said. "By then I want your...flaws...gone."

He let his gaze flicker over to Jared at the last words and the man clenched his jaw; he made a barely visible nod and once they were up at the training area, the taller man threw himself into his work, giving Jensen no reason to come down on him, making no mistakes for him to point out.

Maybe Jared would make it through the arena alive.

~*~

  
The roar of the crowd had always gotten to Jensen, its pulsing energy crashing over him in waves like it was something alive, something that would overpower him if he let it. He turned his back towards the gate and looked at the men in front of him, wondering how many of them he would bring back with him after the fights were done. Jared was crouched down, one sword in each hand, and Jensen was sure that he had made the right choice there; with Jared's strength and reach, he would benefit more from the two swords than from a sword and shield.

He met Quintus's gaze over the heads of the three novices and two veterans who were scheduled to fight that day; his friend nodded. It was time to get things started.

"Listen up," Jensen said. "The retiarii will be the first to fight." Jensen nodded at the two veterans. "There will be secutores from the other ludi, but you know that the first fight isn't a fight to the death. Hurt, don't kill."

The men nodded. They were both year-long veterans and had more than proved their ability to put on a show for the crowd; Jensen wasn't worried about them. But he knew that the three novices were scheduled for fights that would involve death, and it was always a special feeling to send his men out into those fights.

"The thraces will be the next ones," Jensen went on, looking at two of the novices, their faces obscured by helmets. "The other ludi doesn't provide hard resistance, but it will be a fight to the death."

He could hear the two men swallow, but they showed no other hesitation; instead, they strapped their small round shields to their arms.

That left him with one person to address. He turned to meet Jared's multicolored gaze head on; the other man pushed himself up off the ground, stretching without letting go of his swords. On the other side of the gate, the crowd was growing restless and Jensen saw Jared dart a quick glance towards them, the only outward sign that he was worried in any way.

"You’ll be next,” Jensen said. “The problem is that I don't know who your opponent will be. But I need to warn you: the crowd will be out for blood."

Jared nodded stiffly and twirled the heavy swords in his hands, not flinching when an extra-loud roar from the crowd knocked a cloud of dust loose from the ceiling. Quintus lead the other men towards the gates, but Jared stayed behind.

"I don't need to watch the others fight," he said quietly. "This is...fuck..."

Jensen had never seen the other man so quiet, so hesitant, and he didn't like it. He reached for his own swords and motioned for Jared to step forward.

"Nothing fast,” he said. “Just a little warm up while the others are competing."

Jared twirled his big swords around with ease and took his spot in front of Jensen. For awhile, they let the clank of metal overshadow the crowd’s loud roar and the low murmuring of the men waiting at the gates. They lost themselves in the motions, an easy routine that came as naturally as breathing, and it wasn't until Quintus came around and told them that Jared would be up next that they broke apart, swords dipping down against the ground.

~*~

  
"I didn't think they would put him up against another dimachaeri," Quintus said as he and Jensen stood at the gate and watched Jared take his place in the middle of the arena.

The opposite gate had opened and a man was walking towards Jared, one sword in each of his hands, and Jensen had to agree: Seeing two dimachaeri set against each other was very unusual. The other man was almost as tall as Jared, and Jensen could see that all their notions about Jared's height giving him the upper hand had been nothing more than wishful thinking.

"This isn't good," Jensen said. "Our other fighters were merely bruised, but..."

His words trailed off when the men stopped, facing each other in silence as the crowd called out for the fight to start. A horn blew and they were moving, circling each other to try and find a weakness; Jensen felt pride when he saw the confidence in Jared’s motions, each step carefully calculated and his swords seemingly extensions of his long, muscular arms.

The clank of metal was drowned out by the roar of the crowd and Jensen stood, riveted, watching the fight; the two men were very balanced and even from a distance, Jensen could see the sweat on Jared's skin. The air was buzzing with energy from the crowd, but where before there had been anticipation, Jensen could feel blood lust building higher and higher each time their swords met. The fight kept on, picking up speed, and Jensen winced when the opponent managed to get through Jared’s defences and slice a gash into his bicep.

Jared's sword dipped for a moment, but despite the wound, he lifted his heavy sword up and seemed to push himself even harder, his bare feet moving over the hard-packed ground of the arena as his blood spilled down and mixed with the sand. Jensen could see the moment Jared's movements change, smoothness giving way to heedless swings.

"Fuck," Jensen mumbled.

"He's letting his emotions get in the way of his fighting," Quintus said, leaning against the gate beside Jensen.

"I knew he would," Jensen muttered. "This isn't..."

He didn't get the rest of his sentence out before one of Jared's swords went flying through the air and another gash appeared on his body, blood gushing from a new wound stretching over his flat stomach. The crowd in the stands was growing restless, several people calling out loudly for more blood. Jensen watched as Jared moved his remaining sword to his right hand, but his opponent managed to get another hit in; blood gushed from Jared's thigh before his leg gave way and the tall man fell to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Jensen wanted to close his eyes. He didn't want to see the sword that was already moving towards Jared's head, but he couldn't take his eyes away. At his side, Quintus turned away, walking into the dark room behind them where their other fighters were tending to their wounds. Jensen saw the blade fall, the metal glinting in the blinding sunlight, and an expectant hush fell over the arena as hundreds of people awaited the kill.

What none of them, not even Jensen, had expected was for Jared to get his sword back up, barely avoiding the descending blade; instead of cutting into his neck, it dug deep into the sand, and before the man had a chance to get it back up, Jared was rolling out of the way. His sword was already in motion; it cut into the standing man’s side with a wet sound, blood spaying out and coloring both Jared and the ground crimson.

For a few long moments, the crowd was quiet, stunned by the sudden change in dynamic. Then Jared got to his feet and swung his sword through the air—with a crunch, it cut through bone and muscle, severing his opponent’s head from his body and spraying hot blood to glitter in the sun before it hit the ground and seeped into the dirt.

The audience’s roar when they realized what had just happened was loud enough to make the ground shake under Jensen's feet, but he didn't notice it. Pride surged through him, possessive and warm, as he watched the blood-drenched man in the middle of the arena lift his sword against the blue, cloudless sky.

_**~The End~** _


End file.
